


blessed by shadows

by yamato (yohannes)



Series: h_s' Writober 2020 [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, Royalty, Sievert Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26795233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yohannes/pseuds/yamato
Summary: As the hustle and bustle didn't show signs to quiet down, Freyr looked down to the tower of papers he had on his desk, waiting for his signature -- or, more like the "king's signature". Since he wasn't officially the king yet, of course he couldn't do anything about them. It was a bureaucratic quibble, but the other members of the council wouldn't like it if he started to act like his father did just now.He was under close scrutiny, he knew. He could -- and should -- not make hazardous decisions just because he's going to die from overwork later.-[writober 2020 | day 03 | "Reflection"]
Series: h_s' Writober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948138





	blessed by shadows

**Author's Note:**

> posted for Day 3 of Writober 2020 - Blank List, Prompt "Reflection"

With the inheritance ceremony right around the corner, the whole palace staff was just as frenetic as an ant nest while looking for food to fight off the cold season. Servants ran from a room to another, hands full of decorations and other props created specifically for the big event.

It wasn't everyday that a new king was ascending to the throne, not that a war finally ended without as much casualities as first expected.

Most of the nobles and devout people alike called it a miracle, name and fact alike. Many believed it as a sign that the new monarch was going to bring prosperity to the realm, much more after the late king disastrous self-destructing tendencies.

As the hustle and bustle didn't show signs to quiet down, Freyr looked down to the tower of papers he had on his desk, waiting for his signature -- or, more like the "king's signature". Since he wasn't officially the king yet, of course he couldn't do anything about them. It was a bureaucratic quibble, but the other members of the council wouldn't like it if he started to act like his father did just now.

He was under close scrutiny, he knew. He could -- and should -- not make hazardous decisions just because he's going to die from overwork later.

Freyr sighed for the umpteenth time, massaging his eyes with a hand. Nothing he could do at that point, right? He chose this for himself.

His stare wandered around the large office-lobby of his father, the former king, from the bookshelves-covered walls filled with tomes to the little decorative statues he had put on the desk, just to liven things up. There was also a little flower vase near the large window behind the desk's chair, undoubtedly a gift from his little niece -- he regognized the flowers, purple hydrangeas were Moira's favorite -- and he could not surpress a small smile forming on his lips.

One of the reasons why he conceded to the Oath was her and her older brothers: Yvan, Leonhard and Moira were Siegfried's, his older brother's, children. Still, Freyr considered them his own with a passion that made up for what Siegfried himself wasn't giving them in term of affection. He'd do anything to protect them and let them live happy, even if it meant destroying a kingdom, hide them away from the world, or become a monster himself (which, at this point, he was sure he already was).

A cold breeze caressed his nape, making his hair stand up. A shiver ran down his spine, similarly to when he was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to, as he turned around to meet them. A figure clad in black silken robes, their face half hidden behind a mask and a hood covering their head, stood there in silence.

"Our dear Lord", the humanoid creature whispered, bowing a little with a hand on their chest. "We heard your distress. Is there anything we can do to serve you?"

Despite how mild and submissive this fragment of Shadow acted, Freyr knew that it was moslty a façade: these creatures (Demons, as the Star would call them) were capable of tremendous, inhumane acts -- they would not hesitate to make a whole empire crumble onto itself, to make a civilization burn into nothingness if their Lord so commanded. It was scary to think he had that kind of power and sometimes he felt like being crushed under the pressure of that alone, but he could not just let himself do that.

So, he steeled his resolve and took a deep breath. "No, it's nothing. I'm good like this." he replied then, voice decisive for the most part.

The creature didn't lose their composure and simply tilted their head to the side as to show confusion. It looked like they were about to speak, but decided not to at last.

"Dear Lord," they begun again, voice softer this time -- and Freyr had the impression they switched over with another fragment just now; he was supposed to notice, as the Lord and contractor -- as their expression turned into a more sincere smile. "Would you perhaps let us take care of you?"

They definitely switched, the man thought, nodding slowly after afew seconds of silence.

The shadow nodded too, before offering a hand to him. He tentatively took it.

He would take some time in growing accustomed to warping, especially when that always left him with a vague sense of nausea afterwards. Still, when re-opened his eyes, he didn't see the old, book-filled office around him, but instead the familiar room where he tried to relax after a long day. He felt his shoulder drop a little already, the tension leaving him a bit.

The creature didn't let go of his hand and guided him at the dressing table in the corner of his chambers, gesturing for him to sit before the mirror with their free hand. Freyr conceded, taking the seat and willing himself to relax a little.

He didn't need to look at the reflection to see the shadow start to undo the hairdo on his head -- a complicated yet elegant design of braids and pins and everything he despised since his younger days. Freyr couldn't bring himself cut his hair down, not even now that they reached down below his waist: they were a symbol to him, a reminder of his own origins. He shared the same, vibrant red with his older brothers and hiw nephews, which made it near impossible to forget the one they got him from.

His mother, the later queen -- a woman who's best left forgotten. And yet, her stubborness at being remembered seemed to still live on.

Freyr didn't mind. Such a memento was more useful to him than not, to keep in mind the horrors she and his father brought forth during their ruling time. He wasn't going to be the same-

"Dear Lord... your mind is still troubled..." 

He almost jumped as he heard another voice, a second shadow, right beside his ear. His eyes looked at the mirror, meeting another masked face, without turning his head. He just noticed that his hair was mostly down -- and just as he thought that, he felt cold hands massaging his scalp delicately where the pins and ribbons previously kept his hair into place.

A sigh left his lips.

"I'm fine, shadow." he murmured, leaning to the other's touch for a bit. "Is everything alright within the castle?"

"Ah, yes. We're keeping our eyes on the other members of the council as our Lord instructed and some of us are lookig after the blessed children of our Lord's realm."

Freyr hummed soflty, relaxing a little more knowing that his dear ones were guarded. "Good. Keep an eye on the Praetor, too. I have... the feeling he's going to be a hassle sometime soon."

The shadow on his right rumble with a low, distorted chuckle. "Would you perhaps want him gone, dear Lord?"

Another shiver ran down Freyr's spine and his eyes darted to the shadow speaking. He sometimes wished he wasn't so honest with his words, because the creatures he made a pact with seemed to be quite drawn to violence -- this fragment in particular, if he recognized them well, was one of those who often tempted him to give in to bloodshed.

"No." he ordered, a little too fast to be considered rational. After a moment, he added. "Not now, at least. It... would be too suspicious." 

The distorted sound of both shadows' chuckles reached his ears. The one that was at his side took a step back, bowing to the waist (Freyr felt the gesture a tad too exaggerate to be honest) as they two of them bid their farewell, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

The young man was left with his own reflection once again, alone. His own eyes stared at him, burning into his soul, and just in that moment of solitude he let himself crumble a bit. His hands went up to his shoulders, crossed over his chest, and he rested his forehead on the dressing table.

"It's going to be fine" he reassured himself again, and again, and again.

And in the silence, he heard a cacophony of voices repeating the same words in his mind. Some soothingly, some decisively, some others even with ridicule.

It was going to be fine.  
  



End file.
